


Jiggle / Stocky

by the_deep_magic



Category: Actor RPF, Star Trek RPF
Genre: Body Image, Body Modification, Comfort, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Food, Insecurity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-19 10:07:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_deep_magic/pseuds/the_deep_magic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes an actor must make sacrifices for his art.  Sometimes those sacrifices turn Zach the fuck on. / It’s not that Zach is ever really <i>not</i> supportive of Chris’ career; he just seems to be taking a particularly active role at the moment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jiggle / Stocky

**Author's Note:**

> These were originally posted as two separate fics, but since they run parallel, I've put them together here. "Stocky" was written for the body alteration square on my Kink Bingo 2010 card.

**Jiggle**

Zach watches Chris twist and preen in front of the full-length mirror for about thirty seconds before deciding that, yeah, his ass has definitely got some jiggle to it these days.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” Chris whines.

“Killer role in a sweet-ass movie and – if I may quote you directly – all the deep-fried Twinkies you can shove in your face.”

Chris glances back at him.  “Yeah, okay, the Twinkie thing is fun.  But Soderbergh wants me to gain _another_ ten pounds on top of this.  What am I going to do?”

“You,” says Zach with great purpose and relish, “are going to _eat_.”

Chris groans in mingled delight and frustration, and Zach leans forward just enough to swat him hard on the ass, letting his hand linger for just a nanosecond too long.

 _Yup_ , Zach thinks with a grin.  _Jiggle_.

&&&

One day Chris announces he will buy all new clothes – since his current plaid collection is getting redneck-tight and it’s depressing him – and the next he refuses Zach’s invitation to go shopping.  It’s not a permanent thing, he says.  It’s going to go away as soon as filming is over, he says, so what’s the use in buying a whole new wardrobe?  So he buys himself one shit-brown jumbo hoodie from Walmart and refuses to take it off in public.  Ever.

Zach makes him take it off at home, under the guise of washing it if nothing else will work.

“Am I sweating more?” Chris asks, letting his head drop back against the couch in anguish.  “I swear I’m sweating more.”

“It’s getting hotter, you idiot, everyone’s sweating more,” Zach grumbles, carefully maneuvering himself between Chris’ back and the arm of the couch.  “But no, you are not sweating any more than you usually would when wrapped in a brown circus tent in southern California.”

“But you’d tell me if I was?”

“Christopher,” Zach sighs, resting his chin on Chris’ shoulder and letting his arms encircle the other man’s waist.  “Have I ever hesitated to mock lapses in your personal hygiene?”

“Guess not,” Chris mumbles.

“Of course not,” Zach says with a squeeze.  And then another squeeze, just for funsies.

&&&

Despite the extra pounds, Chris is still as strong as ever.  Zach’s pretty sure that old weight set in the garage didn’t move around by itself, but since he’s never actually caught Chris in the act of illicitly working out, he doesn’t say anything.

He does, however, spend an entire afternoon and evening sending Chris really filthy text messages, stuff that’s raunchy even for them.  Zach’s weighing the benefits of sending Chris a picture of his O-face versus the possibility of it ever somehow ending up online and in his mom’s inbox when Chris comes bursting through the front door, home an hour and a half early from set.

Zach plays Innocent and Flustered the best he can when he’s already tenting his jeans as Chris hauls him up and backs him into the wall.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Chris growls, eyes alight.  “You knew I was filming a tough scene today.  You _knew_ and you still tried to get me hot and bothered.”

 _Tried?_ Zach wants to ask with a raised eyebrow, but instead he goes for nonchalance.  “You didn’t have to read them.”

When he tries to squirm away, Chris uses his weight to pin Zach to the wall.  _All_ of his weight.

&&&

When they fuck, Chris has the charming habit of forgetting that anything else exists, up to and including his own name and any number of public decency laws.  So he sure as hell isn’t thinking about how he looks when Zach has him on hands and knees on the bed and is pounding into him from behind.

The springs creak loudly and Chris has to throw a hand up against the headboard to brace himself.  Zach growls in triumph and digs his fingers harder into the flesh at Chris’ hips.  But he can’t keep his hands there for very long – he has to rub them hard up Chris’ sides, reach down to press Chris’ erection against the slight swell of his belly, feel the new fleshiness of Chris’ thighs under his palms.

And then, when he can’t hold back anymore, he has to bring his open hand down against the perfect roundness of Chris’ ass, grunting out his climax as he feels Chris’ flesh jiggle under his hands.

&&&

Chris is usually the cuddler, but Zach’s the one that can’t seem to let go of him now that the flat planes and hard angles of his body are just a little bit softer.

“Will you still love me when I’m thin?” Chris chuckles into Zach’s sweat-spiked hair.

 “It’s a sacrifice I’ll have to make,” Zach sighs, already halfway asleep.

 

 **Stocky**

Chris hangs up the phone and groans, burying his face in his hands.  “There’s a catch.”

Zach – _the bastard_ – just laughs.  “They cast you without even making you audition.  Of course there’s a catch.”

“How does that follow?”

“Acting karma.”

“For the record, I’m pretty sure that’s not what thousands of years of Indian religious tradition had in mind.”

Zach snorts.  “What are they making you do, sign away your soul?  Kill a kitten?”

“Worse.  Soderbergh’s now envisioning the character as ‘stocky,’” Chris says, spitting the word out with disgust.  “I have to gain weight.”

Maybe he’s imagining things, but it looks like Zach actually perks up.  “How much?”

“He wants to start with twenty, twenty-five pounds, and ‘see how that goes.’”  Chris rolls his eyes.

“C’mon, look at the bright side.  You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want.  And you’ve already landed a man, so you don’t have to worry about letting yourself go.”

Chris’ mood starts to brighten again.  Zach calls it emotional ADD, but Chris knows he’s just resilient.  “Yeah.  Yeah, this could be good.  All the deep-friend Twinkies I can shove in my face, right?”

This time, he knows he’s not imagining the twinkle in Zach’s eyes.

&&&

It’s not that Zach is ever really _not_ supportive of Chris’ career; he just seems to be taking a particularly active role at the moment.  Chris shakes his head.  “I still don’t get it.”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Zach says, crumbling bacon and stirring it into the macaroni and cheese on the stove.  “You don’t have to get it.  You just have to keep carbo-loading.”

Chris sighs and leans back against the counter, shifting uncomfortably in his ill-fitting pants.  “You are enjoying this way, way more than I am.”

Zach just smiles sweetly and holds out the spoon until Chris takes a bite.  Sweet merciful Jesus, he can taste at least four different kinds of cheese in there.  Real cheese, too, not that powdered Easy Mac shit.  He lets out an involuntary _mmm_ and Zach’s eyes go dark.  “Good, or needs more bacon?” he asks.

“Do you _have_ more bacon?”

“Yes.”

“Then why are you even asking me that question?  Yes, more bacon.  Oh god, I’m going to die of a heart attack.”

“It’s only temporary,” Zach sighs.  “The second it’s over, I’m sure you’ll hop right back on the treadmill.”  He sounds almost regretful.

&&&

And Zach is _never_ this submissive.  He loves bottoming, but he always makes Chris work for it, like it’s a privilege he has to earn.  Now, though, if Chris wants to top, all he has to do is push Zach to the bed and Zach stays down, barely struggling against Chris’ hold.

It’s hard to get used to, this sudden change in body composition, and as the weight piles on, Chris feels like an idiot.  He insists on keeping the lights off.  Whenever he flexes his hips, he can feel the flesh jiggling in his thighs and it bothers him so much that he barely thrusts, just rocks his hips gently until Zach locks a leg around his back and growls, “Damn it, Pine, just _fuck me_ already.” 

The sound Zach makes when Chris complies keeps him from caring quite so much about the jiggle.

&&&

It takes Chris an embarrassingly long time to put it all together – the lingering looks, the constant groping, the sudden, bizarre interest in cooking.  God, the _cooking_.  He should’ve known the first time he walked in on Zach attempting to fry his own doughnuts that it wasn’t just some crush on a hot chef on the Food Network.  Not even Rocco DiSpirito would make Zach brave second-degree burns and enough powdered sugar to choke a hippo.

Even so, Chris can’t bring himself to ditch the godawful oversized hoodie he wraps himself in whenever he leaves the house.  It should be enough that Zach loves his body, and when he’s at home, trying to pass Zach in the hallway _just once_  without getting his ass grabbed, it is enough.  On set, in character, it’s not so bad either.  But in the in-between times, the paparazzi-laden errands and the even the quick coffee runs (lattes with skim milk now, though he’ll never tell Zach), he’s the chubbiest kid on the playground.

No one says anything.  That almost makes it worse – like it’s all in Chris’ head, even though it’s not, it can’t be.  There are a few scattered articles with titles like “Pine Packs on the Pounds for New Role.”  It’s all praise for his dedication to the craft, but god help him if he doesn’t lose the weight immediately afterwards.  (He makes the mistake of asking his sister whether this is what having a baby is like, and she slaps him.)  As much as Chris will swear up and down that Renee Zellweger is way, way hotter as Bridget Jones, Zach’s right – as soon as filming is over, Chris is going to pretty much move into the gym until he stops having that nightmare where he eats frogs out of a fishbowl and keeps demanding to see Solo and the Wookiee.

So when he gets a text message that reads _Get your sweet ass home so I can sink my teeth into it_ , he’s glad for the distraction.

&&&

God, Zach is actually _pouting_ and he probably doesn’t even know it.  Chris shifts a little on the bed, aggravating newly gym-sore muscles to keep himself from cracking a smile.  “It’s not all going to vanish overnight, you know,” he says.

“I know,” Zach says with a mournful sigh, burying his nose in Chris’ armpit like that’s a completely normal thing to do.

“And my glorious… robustness is preserved on film for future generations.”

“I know.”

But Chris knows that’s not the point.  It’s the way he feels under Zach’s hands that matters.  He closes his eyes, shuts off his brain, and sinks back into the bed, reveling in Zach’s worshipful touch.  “Zach?”

“Mmm?”

“When we finally get sick of this business, let’s move the hell out of LA and I’ll really let myself go.”

Zach doesn’t say a word, but Chris can feel his smile against his skin.


End file.
